


Don't

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They mess around and that’s it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Alfrid hates Bard. Bard hates Alfrid. That doesn't stop them from falling into bed together on a fairly regular basis. They both know they shouldn't be doing it, but the sex isreally good and they've pretty much agreed to keep their ordinary lives and what they do in bed completely separate. That is, right up until one of them notices that, on the other's side at least, there are feelings involved” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20688639#t20688639).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He stops mid-thrust, then has to pull back because Alfrid arches back into him. Alfrid’s taut ass grinds onto his cock, and Alfrid looks over his shoulder, greasy hair tumbling down his spine, his eyes asking what Bard stopped for. Bard shoves him against the wall again just to shut him up preemptively, slams in to the hilt and wriggles inside. He doesn’t even care if he finds the right spot, because Alfrid moans happily anyway, and he will whether Bard does it right or not. He’s got his forehead pressed to the wood and his hands spread open against it, Bard’s fingers digging angry bruises into Alfrid’s hips. Bard bites into Alfrid’s shoulder and pulls back again, this time grabbing Alfrid by the bicep to make him follow. 

It’s too easy to throw Alfrid towards the bed. Alfrid’s rail-thin in places and flabby in others, but none of it’s muscle. He stumbles over his own flooring and hits the mattress, toppling onto it without a shred of grace. He rolls over just in time, because Bard’s on him again, slipping right between his open legs with a feral want for _more_.

Every bit as naked as his catch, Bard shoves his cock at Alfrid’s hole, wet and stretched and waiting for him. He never misses, though Alfrid does all the time. He stabs his cock right in, all the way to his balls, grinds deep and flattens their bare chests together, his tight body against Alfrid’s round stomach and both their sweat slicked between. He opens his mouth first, but Alfrid’s the one to lunge up at him. They kiss just as relentlessly as they fuck, at least this time. Bard pounds Alfrid hard into the mattress, hard enough to make it groan and creak, the headboard slapping into the wall. He fills Alfrid’s mouth with his tongue over and over, just because he _needs_ that connection, even though this is just _sex_. It’s disgusting, and he’s ashamed of it, but it feel so, _so_ good, and Bard knows he’ll be back again. 

They do this in Alfrid’s pitiful hovel because Bard couldn’t bear to have any of his kids walk in on him. He’s not sure he could bear to have anyone know. Alfrid’s kisses are all messy, his stubble irritating in its rub against Bard’s and his nose always in the wrong place. He’s sloppy and bites more than Bard. Bard has to keep one fist in his hair to make him _behave_ , the other hand roaming to claw and squeeze anywhere he wants. He keeps coming back because he can _do this_ : he can get release with Alfrid, in any way he wants. He can take out all his rage at his miserable life on this terrible creature, or he can come in broken and tired and have Alfrid fuck him hard and drown out the pain. Only rarely do they fuck slow and steady. Sometimes he doesn’t kiss Alfrid at all—sometimes he turns Alfrid around and doesn’t even look at him. But today Bard’s come back from a long, cold run across the lake, and he’s aching and bitter, and he takes all that out on Alfrid’s willing body while Alfrid fights to kiss him back. 

Alfrid claws at his shoulders, probably not as bruising, just trying to hold on. Alfrid’s bony legs cling to Bard’s sides, chest arching up to try and grind them together, like it’ll transfer Bard’s six-pack over like a stamp. Alfrid keeps banging their teeth together, and when he fists his hands in Bard’s hair, he always finds the tangles, tugs too far, somehow just incites Bard to fuck him harder. Bard’s merciless. He thrusts inside of Alfrid’s tight channel and wrenches back out, then slams in again so brutally that the worn mattress bounces him up, shoves them back together, and Bard does it again, beating Alfrid’s ass red and raw. They don’t say anything. Just kiss and fuck and clutch at each other. It’s hotter than sitting at the fire ever is. 

Bard always gets off. Somehow, Alfrid’s decrepit body sucks it out of him, and his balls tighten before he’s ready. He always wants to make it last, guilty as he is, because this is the one place he can just _let it out_ and the one place Alfrid will just shut up and listen. He comes too soon anyway. He slams home to burst inside Alfrid’s pliant body, pumping out enough seed for it to bubble at the edges and trickle down his cock. 

They don’t use protection anymore, even though they could leave each other any minute. Somehow, Bard trusts Alfrid to uphold their deal and be honest about being with others. It’s probably stupid. But everything’s wretched in this place, and he’s growing numb to it. Alfrid’s never shown interest in anyone else, anyway. He doesn’t even talk about it to taunt Bard, which Bard always expects. He just lies there, taking everything Bard has to give, sweating and panting for air. He’s covered in finger and teeth marks. He looks a _mess_ , but it’s all Bard’s.

Out of a mix of pity and a sense of duty, Bard wraps his hand around Alfrid’s cock. He sits up to pull out, but Alfrid grunts, “Stay in.” So Bard does, even though it feels strange after, almost painful on his flagging cock—Alfrid’s tight, even with stretching and lube and a thorough fucking. He pumps Alfrid out, until Alfrid scrunches up his face and comes with a strangled groan, spilling down Bard’s hand. Bard deliberately points it back at Alfrid’s body. 

He pulls out after, to Alfrid’s grimace. He sits there, breathing hard and dizzy from his orgasm; it always takes a bit to come down, and it leaves him too cold. Heavy, he drops down beside Alfrid. Then he shuts his eyes and just _breathes_. Mainly because Alfrid stinks, not just of sex but everything, he rolls over.

He’s just about to rise when Alfrid wraps around him, one leg shoving between his and the other over them, both arms snaking around Bard’s middle like too-stiff rope. Alfrid spoons him, face pressed into the back of his neck and shoulder. Their bodies glue together from sweat and seed. It’s just as gross as it always is. 

He always leaves after. But Alfrid grips on tight like he doesn’t want to let Bard go. It gives Bard the familiar flicker of wondering why Alfrid always does whatever he wants in bed. He’d thought it was some sort of twisted gratitude: Alfrid’s probably too awful to get anyone else. No one in this town likes him. Not a one. But the way Alfrid nuzzles into him makes Bard wonder if it’s more.

He doesn’t know what he’d do about that. He doesn’t _want_ to have feelings for Alfrid in return. He doesn’t even want to think about it. He can barely stand life as it is, breaking his back for three little ones with a bed empty from the last one he was foolish enough to get too attached to. He swore he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He’s already got too much to lose. 

He jerks out of Alfrid’s arms, stronger by far, and stumbles out of the bed. He finds his trousers intermixed with the discarded heap of their clothes. As he pulls them up, he looks back at the bed. Alfrid glares at him resentfully, then rolls over. He has a way of curling up into a little ball that he probably doesn’t even realize, maybe because he doesn’t have enough meat on his bones to keep himself warm. It flicks on some sort of paternal instinct that Bard shoves right back down. 

He puts on his clothes and leaves, deliberately not looking back.


End file.
